


on a trip to the aquarium

by norio



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-07
Updated: 2016-08-07
Packaged: 2018-08-07 06:15:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7703695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/norio/pseuds/norio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Akaashi and Bokuto go on a not-date to an aquarium.</p>
            </blockquote>





	on a trip to the aquarium

**on the bus ride to the aquarium**

“Go out with me.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

 

**on the touch pool and things meant to be felt**

“Yes,” Akaashi repeats, “You can touch them.” He squats down over the tank, arms folded across his knees. He’s rolled up the sleeves of his dark slim jacket. He is dressed nicely, with careful attention to his sharp collar and cuffs.

“Maybe I shouldn’t,” Bokuto says uneasily. He doesn’t know how to be gentle.

Akaashi wraps his strong fingers over Bokuto’s wrist, gliding his hand underneath the cold water. Bokuto’s fingers scrape against the reddish starfish. Hard, and brittle, and so alive. He brushes along a scaly leg, following the notches and bumps.

Finally, he trails his hand upwards, cupping the glinting water. The reflection of a florescent light trembles in his hand.

 

**on the tangles of the coral reef**

“Hey, what’s that fish?” Bokuto leans over Akaashi’s warm shoulder. By the dim light of the exhibit, Akaashi bends his head over the flimsy pamphlet. The coral reef sprawls in jagged lines and knots of spindly thickness, a mass of vivid green and muted oranges. The shallow water ripples above the caverns.

“Wait, never mind, what’s that?” Bokuto points to another fish. The tank mirrors his motion. Akaashi’s mouth twitches.

“Please wait,” he says, polite and restrained. Bokuto dangles his hand over Akaashi’s shoulder.

“Hey hey, that fish,” Bokuto says, “Those are our uniform colors, right? Wait, your uniform colors. My old uniform colors.” His finger falters, and the silvery fish lined with black and gold stripes swims idly above the prickly branches.

Akaashi’s face doesn’t move.

“The first one,” Akaashi says. “It was an angelfish.”

 

**on the beauty of tropical fishes**

The fishes scatter in a spray of colors. They swirl like coins dropped into the water, packs of silver and huddles of gold. Akaashi quietly points out the blue-striped snapper that swims slowly over the muted rocks. His hand stretches to the flourish of the orange clownfish, the darting damselfish, the spiked surgeonfish. They glide over the sand. Bokuto fumbles with his phone to take pictures.

“I don’t remember my password,” Bokuto says. Akaashi takes the phone, tapping the numbers into the screen. 1-2-0-5. The wallpaper appears, a picture of Bokuto and Akaashi after winning a game. Bokuto has his arm wrapped around Akaashi’s neck, beaming into the camera. Akaashi looks off to the side, Bokuto’s white jacket bundled in his arms.

Akaashi shoves the phone into Bokuto’s hands with a millimeter more force than necessary.

“I’m sorry,” Bokuto says desperately.

“No,” Akaashi says, gripping his fingers.

In the end, Bokuto takes more pictures of Akaashi than the fish. In the strange blue light, Akaashi holds himself with a straight back and harsh grace.

 

**on freshwater fish and things seen through glass**

Akaashi bends forward, staring through the glass at the marbled sole. Bokuto leans against the rim of the round display cases. His hand could only cover half the width, the dim light flooding the side of his fingers and the painted coral reef on the walls. The windows are much larger than volleyballs.

“Akaashi,” Bokuto says, “You did a good job.”

“Thank you,” Akaashi says softly.

“I mean it. You’re a good setter. You’ll be a great captain.” Bokuto puffs out his chest. “Do you want to know the secret of being a great captain?”

“No, thank you.” Akaashi walks away, shoulders stiff. Bokuto deflates and trails after him. Along the hallway, he’s distracted by the fish in the display tanks. He’s drawn to the pale light, where the layered rocks and dashes of seaweed hide the bright fishes. He’s bracing himself against a window to stare at a iridescent blue fish, yellow lining its fins and tail, when he remembers about following Akaashi.

Akaashi stands at the end of the hall, holding his phone horizontal and pointed at him. When Bokuto stands up, Akaashi quickly slips the phone into his pocket.

 

**on the light in the darkness**

“Did you pack yet?”

“Uh.” Bokuto rubs his hands together, descending down the dark stairwell. “Not—not yet. I will! You’ll see!” But Akaashi only walks beyond the display stands. The temperature has dropped to a bracing chill in the deep sea exhibit. A lanternfish swims in a display, big eyes and skeletal glow.

Akaashi lingers by the bioluminescent coral, full of glowing blue-greens, low purples, and a dash of fiery orange. They remind Bokuto, strangely, of the brief sunset when seen through the thick bus glass after a game, and the ascending city lights that emerge like stars. The ceiling fan replicates the hum of the bus beneath his feet, the chill in the air like the occasional air conditioner. Bokuto grabs Akaashi’s sleeve by the elbow.

“This reminds me—”

“Yes,” Akaashi says quietly. “Me too.”

 

**on the quiet of the deep sea**

The ruby snapper eyes him through the thick acrylic glass. Another flash of glittering red, and the fish swims beyond the glass into the inky water. The hallway is dark and cold. He’s more used to the heat of the game, sweat dripping off his face, the flaming lights above him. Now, he’s shivering and hungry. Unfamiliar fishes gaze from the port windows. His stomach growls.

He looks down the hallway. Akaashi glances back at him, half-hidden in the murky shadows. After a moment, Akaashi raises a finger to the sign above his head.

Café, it reads, with an arrow pointing to the right.

 

**on a good view and good company**

Bokuto digs into his cheesy treat with his hands. The melted mozzarella drips down his finger. Akaashi swathes his hands in napkins. The wicker chairs and tables space widely across the restaurant, nothing like the cramped barbeque spot where the team eats after games, elbows digging into sides and knees mashed against each other.

“Go out with me,” Akaashi says, almost off-handedly. Bokuto swallows down the burning cheese.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, “I can’t.”

Akaashi half-nods like a stutter. He gazes out the window to the rolling pale sea, the foaming waves washing ashore. Bokuto thinks Akaashi is handsome. He always has composure, a solid presence, an impeccable neatness.

“Your food is dripping,” Akaashi says. He tips his glass of water onto a napkin and rises from his chair. Bokuto stops scraping the food from his shirt. Akaashi dabs at the stain, elbow resting on the marble table.

“I’m sorry,” Bokuto says, bewildered. Akaashi dips the napkin into the water again.

“No,” he says softly. “Don’t be.”

 

**on akaashi and the sea**

“You have to hurry,” Bokuto argues, pulling Akaashi by the jacket sleeve through the crowd. Silhouettes mill around, bright cell phone screens pointed at the tank.

“It’s not going anywhere.”

“But you have to hurry! Come on, Akaashi!” Bokuto settles in a good spot. His hand slips from Akaashi’s sleeve to Akaashi’s hand.

The light piercing from above the enormous tank leaves a glittering trail of diamonds. The schools of fishes swim slowly, circular and methodical. Through the thick glass, Bokuto can make out the ridged bonitos, the vague yellow of tunas. They swirl and scatter, roaming like waves over the sand. Some, no bigger than his fist, twist and curve. Others, bigger, move with barely a flicker.

“Wow,” Bokuto says, “Wow, Akaashi—”

The whale shark swims into view.

 

 

He sees the whale shark slowly, then all at once. The long white belly, the pale dots and thin stripes, the wide mouth, the basking way of swimming. No longer measurable in hands and volleyballs, but the size of his whole being. Another whale shark follows the first, the water flows like pale throbs to their propulsion. Giant manta rays flank and dip to the sand, thin wings rippling. They slowly flapped their fins, flying and floating in leisurely thrusts, hovering beneath the whale sharks. Bokuto feels—small, watching the clean glides in the blue tank. In the water, there was a lightness of being. He feels himself smiling, gaping mouth and clenched hand, because everything is big, and small, and so alive. The whale sharks swim above him with such easy grace below the glittering water. Their gray speckled tails twist slow and gentle for the turn.

“Akaashi, did you see? Did you see that? Akaashi,” Bokuto begins, but when he turns, Akaashi is watching him. The stark shadows from the luminescent tank mask his face.

“I’m watching,” he says softly, and turns back to the tank. His smile is even softer in the glow of the water.

 

**on the price of a whale shark plush**

¥2545.50  
$25.00  
An hour of arguing around three display cases (“You should only buy one item, Bokuto-san.”) (“If it’s in one bag, it’s one item!”)  
Hours of practice into fading nights  
Inter-Highs, Spring Tournaments  
The echoes of volleyballs hitting the court floor  
Bottles of Pocari Sweat, the quiet hiss of Air Salonpas, three packs of cards  
The trailing song of Auld Lang Syne  
A sharp tug on a jacket sleeve, a quiet question (“Are you doing anything this weekend, Bokuto-san.”)  
Two years

 

**on goodbyes and the ocean**

“We’ll take the bus in an hour,” Akaashi says, sitting beneath the whale shark statue. The bus schedule sprawls out in a web of meticulous lines. Akaashi always was the strategist.

“Okay,” Bokuto says. “Thanks for buying this for me, Akaashi.” He squishes the whale shark doll’s face. The furry top has an unrealistic pastel blue, but he runs his fingers over the flat sides anyway.

“Go out with me.” Akaashi stares at the high gates.

“I’m sorry. I can’t.” The whale shark beams at him. “I’m—I’m mad at you, Akaashi.”

“And why is that?” Akaashi sounds patient and unperturbed.

“Because you’re leaving me! Or, not, but you’re leaving, or I’m leaving, but I thought we were going to go together, Akaashi, but we’re not. So I’m mad at you! And I’m sad! I’m sad I can’t play with you anymore! And I’m even madder because you keep—keep saying things, like, go out with me, and I know why you’re doing it, Akaashi. It’s because you think I need you. Need your help. With the—just like before, with the duties, and the homework, and the lunches, and the everything. You’re doing this out of pity.” Bokuto grasps his fists against his thighs.

“I’m not that noble, Bokuto-san.” Akaashi settles his fingers against the stone steps. “Everybody needs help sometimes. You don’t need my help in particular. You’ll be fine.”

“Then—”

“I’m just a coward.” Akaashi smiles thinly. “I don’t want you to go.”

“And I don’t want to go!” Bokuto had thought all his tears had run out, but his face crumples and his fingers dig into his palm. He hasn’t had enough. He remembers his matches, all his matches, ascending to nationals, the training camps, the first time he met Akaashi, a night when he sprawled out on the floor and Akaashi sat against the pole, the wide space of a court, the opponents on the other side of the net, the feeling of flying when he leapt for the ball, the ferocious cheers of victory, arms wrapping around him, walking home at night with Akaashi staring up at the strangely golden crescent moon above, everything came like a torrential wave, and he tries to wipe away his wet angry face.

“But you’ll be fine, Bokuto-san.” Akaashi speaks like a slow stir. “You have a cheerful disposition and a genuine love for volleyball. They’ll see that.”

“Akaashi—” But when he turns, Akaashi is crying, too. Akaashi bites his bottom lip in a ferocious snarl, tears slow and even.

“I was hoping you’d cling to me. That was my arrogance. But if you insist on being strong, then I’ll be weak. You can consider me your weakness.” Akaashi clutches his fingers together, the muscles on the back of his hands clenching.

“You’re not, Akaashi, you’re not—” But even while Bokuto struggles, Akaashi shakes his head.

“Maybe your weaknesses are your strength, after all.” Akaashi smiles mirthlessly, eyes closed and damp. “I can hope for that.”

“But why now?” Bokuto rubs his sleeve across his eyes. “Do you even like me?”

“Yes, but I’ve liked you for years. This is just—trying to keep a piece of you with me. You’ll see the ocean, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi says, “and the ocean will be big, and hopefully, still full of whales and sharks you’ve never known. But I’ll be here. So please pity me, and go out with me.”

“If that’s what you want,” Bokuto says, unsurely, but Akaashi speaks before he finishes the sentence.

“Don’t go—” The words erupt from Akaashi’s mouth, violent and unbidden. Akaashi grabs him by the arms, staring down at the stone steps. His eyebrows cross, furious at apparently himself, and Bokuto laughs in forceful, guttural bewilderment, and he crumples, too, grabbing Akaashi into a tearful, ugly hug, squeezing him to his shoulder. He doesn’t know how long he cries. Akaashi’s fingers curl, tight and weak, onto his shoulder.

Behind him, the glittering fish swim in their carefully preserved tanks. Beyond him, the ocean roars.


End file.
